Winter Beast at the Work Retreat
by wildpiercy
Summary: When BLU team is trapped at a cabin in the wilderness with some not so mythological monsters they're trapped in a kill or be killed-and-have-to-drive-all-the-way-back-to-get-their-cars situation. (First try at a fanfiction, would appreciate reviews)
1. Pins and Needles

The short caravan wove its way up the slippery, dark road. The always dusty camper van was fully coated in mud and slush from the heavy snowfall as it crawled forward the windshield wipers whipping back and forth in the heavy snow. The car behind it was a longbed pickup, the back covered in a tarp and a dull coat of blue covered in grey sludge adorned the frame, its headlights illuminated the back of the camper van. The final car in the procession was surprisingly a rather sleek Italian sports car attempting to rev through the drifts the two off road vehicles drove over easily. Watching the scene you could almost imagine the owner of the sports car quietly swearing at each bump, worrying for water damage and suspension in the heavy weather.

Inside the frontmost car Soldier drove with his face pressed close to the windshield, squinting to make out anything past the front of the van, in the passenger seat Miss Pauling spread the large map out on the dashboard and glared at the jumble of lines, flashlight held in mouth, ready to grab the wheel. Behind them there was gentle snoring from the Heavy, something more resembling a chainsaw emanating from the Demoman. Long too tired to drive but hardly one to trust his car to the likes of Soldier, Sniper held a muttered conversation with Scout, the words "bloody Spy", and "fuckin' annoying" popping up frequently. Occasionally Soldier would turn in his seat to add a little too loudly how the Spy was a useless coward; he didn't know they were talking about the enemy Spy, but the point would still have stood.

Trailing behind was the truck, inside Engineer rested his head on one hand muttering a "yep" or "yu-huh" while the Pyro mumbled animatedly. He could figure out what Pyro, nearly sitting on the gearbox, was saying or he could drive, there wasn't much of a middle ground. On the other side of Pyro a slumbering Medic rested his head against the cold glass, glasses sitting askew on his face.

Bringing up the rear Spy sat alone, he was hardly going to share a near clean sports car with those heathens coated in dust; of course that didn't stop them from jamming his trunk and back seat full of supplies and luggage. He flicked the radio on hoping the noise would keep him awake only to curl his lip as he saw the one channel he picked up was static interspersed with snippets of country. He quickly tapped the button off again and returned his gloved hand from the open window to take a drag on his cigarette, returning his nearly numb hand and damp cigarette to the cold for fear of sullying the interior of the car with smoke. When told they were going on a retreat he assumed it would be somewhere nice, maybe the Bahamas, or at least Vegas, not some cabin in Hell frozen over.

Miss Pauling glanced up from the map and spitting the flashlight out said, "Soldier turn here, between the trees, we're almost there!" Grabbing the wheel and turning it herself as she realized he was once again facing back to grumble about "the low-life backstabber". Behind them the pickup and sports car followed, Spy grimacing again as he saw that he was to take his car off-road.

For another fifteen minutes they drove through the trees, the snow beginning to slack off as the cabin came into view. The three cars pulled around the house and parked near the front porch, the occupants waking up and hauling the closest luggage up to the porch. There was a general popping of backs, stretching of limbs, and an agreement to grab the bedrolls and essentials, leaving the rest for the morning. When the "essentials" had been transported to the porch (A duffel bag of Scout's, a cooler packed with food, and a box of beers that was chilled to freezing.) they opened the door to see a surprisingly welcoming cabin, barring the blast of cold air and a rather frightened owl that flew past them. They set up the bed rolls, arranged around the now roaring fire, its orange light flickering over the room.

By the time the noise started Scout was the only one awake, ruffling through his bag for an interesting comic to read, picking up one to read a couple pages only to decide it was boring, he had read it before, or he simply wasn't in the mood for the character. As once again dug through the bag, he heard it. There was a howling, no, not a howling, it was nothing like a wolf or dog he'd heard before, it was high and keening, yet guttural, almost human, but too bone-chilling to come from anything but a beast. Not thinking Scout began shaking the person closest to him; trying to shake Soldier awake was a bad idea on the best of days.

By the time the team loosened Soldier's fingers from Scout's larynx the howl had sounded again, this time, as Scout coughed out, definitely closer. they were all reasonably on edge by that point, the howl was like nothing anyone had heard before, even Sniper, the resident hunter didn't recognize it. When it sounded for the third time, seemingly right on top of them they froze, all except Soldier.

He stormed outside, fireplace poker in hand, proclaiming that he "wasn't going to be scared by a little wolf". The rest of the team stood with their faces pressed to the windows or peeking through the door as Soldier walked out into the snow and began to scream for that "coward dog" to come get him. Then he was screaming louder, and bleeding, no, gushing blood from the fangs embedded in his shoulder. The Beast was a little larger than a man, long anglerfish like teeth jutted through Soldier's body as blood ran down its white furred chest and tore at him with wicked long claws. Its face was flat like a man's, but the nose was only a stump, its blue tinged flesh visible beneath the clumps of fur. Snarling it dragged the still screaming Soldier out into the darkness.

The remaining group of nine stood in shock for a moment, Pyro snapping out of it first and slamming the door shut. The mercenaries and their handler broke one by one. Miss Pauling grabbed Sniper's sleeve and yelled, "what was that!"

Sniper's jaw worked for a second before, "I've got no bloody idea, the damned thing just dragged 'im away…" Spilled out. Miss Pauling's eyes widened realizing the resident hunter and resident of the deadliest continent had no idea what the monster that just killed Soldier was.

One by one the classes broke from their stupor and they began to worriedly mutter.

"Respawn is working, yes?"

"Last I checked we activated Viaduct, reckon he'll show up there soon."

"Let's hope so, hiring a new soldier at this point would be awful"

"Vhat vas zat thing anyway? It is like nothing I've ever seen!"

While the group stood by the door, Pyro's back still braced against it in an attempt to make sure the creature could not get in, Scout had stumbled back across the room over to his bag proclaiming with increasing volume, "ohgodohgodohgod, I've seen that thing before, what's it, windy-blow, indigo, bucky-bo, sumthin', I've seen it before". The other classes turned to him as he was nearly yelling and now tossing clothes and comics out of his bag before freezing.

He slowly stood and raised the comic in his hands finally saying, "it's a frickin' wendigo". In his hands was a rather bedraggled issue of Tales of Shock and Horror, proclaiming in rather desperate font "It's The Season of The Wendigo" and beneath the words and small illustrations of snowy pumpkins was a drawing of the creature they had just seen drag Soldier away. It wasn't an exact replica of the beast, but it was close enough for there to be no question, the rotted stump of a nose, the sickly blue skin, and clumps of blue fur all adorning the skeletal gorilla-like frame were all there.

At this point Spy had hit his limit for unreality and stepping forward smacked the comic to the floor loudly proclaiming, "are you dreaming? Zere is no thing, it is a mythical creatures! Obviously it was some mangy wolf or bear and we are all overreacting."

Scout shot back as he reached down for the magazine, "a couple-a months ago we fought a magician that was Solly's roommate and Demo's flyin' evil eye, you really want to say myths ain't real?

Demoman affirmed with a quick, "the lad's right ya know. Myths are rarely as fake as they're made out ta be" as he tapped his eyepatch.

"Look, we hardly have ze time to bicker about ze beast, let's err on ze side of caution and see what this "wendigo" is like." Said Medic, gesturing to Scout as he adjusted his eye-glasses worriedly.

"They're, ah, people, and they were cannibals, so they turned inta these beasts like thatun. Uh, they eat people, deadly, fast, they heal like they got a medibeam, and definitely supanatural." Scout said as he thumbed through the comic.

"How do you kill one, Scout? We need its weakness, not its strengths." Replied a somewhat exasperated Miss Pauling.

Scout quickly flipped to the back of the issue and lowered it, "they don't, it kills everyone then walks inta the woods…"

Miss Pauling rubbed at her temples in frustration at their dire situation. Even though there was respawn, which she was entered into of course, there was the situation that three cars and a good portion of their belongings were out here, and unless wendigos learn to drive stick shifts she doubted they'd get them back without returning. Going up to this hell-hole was enough trouble once, "Great, just great, if we had a proper weapon we might stand a chance, but now we're trapped and monster food. But the Administrator was so certain on not taking them."

"Well, actually I've got my bat in here, but my gun's out in tha van…"

"I would not leave Sasha where someone could take her."

"I vouldn't trust these dummkopfs in ze voods without somezing to heal mortal vounds."

"Ah may have been expectin' some sorta wee monster already… Ah've got me sticky bombs in tha truck."

"Not gonna lie, I was hopin' to work on the designs for my machines this week."

"I assumed rifles and hunting knives were excluded, we can hardly stop by a grocery out here."

"Mrr fmurr hudda muff."

"Never house with killers unarmed, and it appears you went by ze same policy Miss Pauling."

"I've never been so glad to hear you all completely fail to follow a simple rule, and yes I brought my revolver, but it's a lot less conspicuous than a flamethrower." Miss Pauling said. "So I suppose all the guns are in the cars, right? Keeping with today's luck."

"Well I do have my bat" proclaimed Scout proudly, brandishing the melee weapon.

"Okay then," Miss Pauling handed a fireplace shovel to a befuddled Scout, "you can be our distraction, make a lot of noise so the rest of us can get the guns inside. Maybe try and dig the tires out a little if you have time, the cars are bumper-deep in snow."

"Ya gotta be kiddin' me!"

"You're fast, right? I sure hope you're faster than a wendigo" Miss Pauling smirked as she pushed Scout to the door.


	2. We Are Not Alone

"I can't believe I actually agreed to this shit"

"You didn't Scout, but you don't have a choice, we need bait in case the wendigo comes back." Miss Pauling flicked the cylinder on her revolver with a satisfying series of clicks.

"Look, laddy, if tha monster returns we'll be exposed hauling tha guns. We need ya to distract it 'til we can get set up." Demoman added as he not so subtly opened the door.

Scout walked out into the snow cautiously, he sank to about mid-shin in the cold, his feet beginning to go numb. Behind him Miss Pauling and seven mercenaries stormed out, branching to their respective vehicles, Spy, Pyro, and Miss Pauling heading to the sports car, popping the trunk for Pyro, while the other two grabbed their luggage and Scout's remaining bag; Heavy, Engineer, and Medic made a beeline for the truck, throwing the tarp off and grabbing their bags and boxes; en route to the campervan was Sniper and Demoman, grabbing the weapons and the miscellaneous bags from the cupboards around the truck. As they began to make their way back to the cabin, loaded down with bags the howling started, a wailing screech, then another one moments after, after a few seconds the two howls sounded again.

"There's more than one-a them..." Scout said to no one in particular before realizing that his companions were too encumbered to get inside in time. He started to smack the bat and shovel together. Getting ripped to shreds and then forced to hang with Soldier was hardly Scout's idea of a good time but he had a feeling that getting Miss Pauling ripped apart by the same token would hardly improve his chances with her.

Dancing out towards the edge of the trees through the high snow Scout kept up a racket adding the occasional yelled insult. Then he heard the screech again, loud enough to drown out the racket and shake his teeth. Then Scout started to run for his life. His feet were plunging deep into the snow as he attempted to get a gait going, ending up in a duck-footed, high-stepping run along the edge of the trees.

The team was almost to the cabin and Scout was losing ground quickly, he was fast on dirt, but snow that slowed you, trapped you, and numbed your senses was anything but ideal. He needed to get off the ground, and not thinking, leapt up to the hood of the rusted truck. As he made a second jump and landed squarely on the cabin he once again bounce down to the bed and just as his shoe touched the back gate he heard a loud CRUNCH. The monsters were following him over the car, and from the sound of it, tearing it up pretty badly.

Completely panicking at this point Scout switched to instincts, and those instincts were saying _get higher, get away._ He jumped across and landed on the van not far away, as he ran over the top of the campervan he felt the whole thing jolt to the side and a fraction of a second later a gunshot rang across the clearing, the bullet passing a few inches in front of his face, prompting a sharp cabin-ward turn.

Standing on the porch as the last of the items were jammed through the door Spy took the cigarette from his mouth and turning to the glaring Engineer next to him snapped, "what? You saw that 'e was about to ruin _my _car too!" Engineer simply sighed and turned, carrying the last bag inside while Heavy stood stiffly while holding the door open, watching Scout run towards the cabin, closely pursued by the two wendigos.

Once again high-stepping through the fresh snow Scout could almost feel the beasts' breath on his back. Trying to get in the cabin would lead the things right to the windows and door, and if they'd done to the cars what it sounded like they did, some glass and an inch of pine wouldn't do much in the way of protection. Passing the porch he yelled a quick, "close tha door, fatty!" Before veering to the side of the house. A tall stack of firewood was just what he needed, he stumbled up the logs with numb feet, hardly feeling them shift and roll away. Scrambling at the quickly collapsing top he managed to grab the edge of the roof with both arms, quickly hauling himself up. He crawled across the roof on all fours, heading for the smoking chimney, it wasn't going to be fun, but being eaten alive couldn't be better than what amounted to a puff from the RED Pyro.

Inside the cabin the team unpacked their weapons, most inside duffel bags, wrapped in burlap, or were simply out of sight covered by tarps in the cars previously. Miss Pauling glanced sideways to Pyro, who was marvelling over his flamethrower, simply saying, "Really? A cello case? I've never been so glad about running late and forgetting to check your lug-" Above their heads there was a clatter of shingles as something ran across the roof, followed by two louder crashes and a noise as if half the roof slid away, "And the gang's all here." Miss Pauling finished as a screaming Scout fell into the lit fireplace.

Quickly pulled out and extinguished by a rather over-happy Pyro, Scout lay gasping for breath as the soft blue aura of the medibeam healed the blistering burns on his skin to the soft pink of new skin. He finally spluttered out, "You all owe me for tha' shit I just went through. I saved all your asses-"

"You left two ravenous beasts pacing on the rooftop, and destroyed two cars. This is 'ardly the time to ask for thanks." Spy cut cut in as the shifting began again on the roof.

"Well? We have guns, let's fight." Heavy added with a certain amount annoyance to the attempts at bickering.

Deciding that their time could be better spent killing than testing the weight allowance of roofs against lurking wendigos the team headed out into the dark once more. Each teammate carried a burning torch of a chair leg or lump of firewood, planting them firmly to give them a decent amount of light as one of the beasts swung down from the roof on ape-like arms and began to stalk towards the group. Then all hell broke loose.

Heavy's gun revved loudly and began to belch fire and lead, his body engulfed by a blue aura of healing; Sniper flicked the trigger on the rifle back and watched as the bullet ripped through the beast's head, which smacked back together with a sickening CRACK and mended; Scout high-stepped through the snow as he attempted to pepper the healing knee joints of the beast with pistol fire; Pyro simply fired their shotgun, face half turned away and trying not to look; Engineer's glove was off, his mechanical hand mending together a mini-sentry, then realizing there was no red for it to shoot Engineer pulled the Wrangler from his belt and aimed the laser guide on the chest of the monster; Demoman slung sticky bombs towards the beast, catching it in its shoulder, which hung limply as the severed tendons stretched and snapped, trying to reattach. Spy and Miss Pauling perforated the beast's face with revolver fire, watching the holes seal shut with less and less urgency.

The wendigo eventually collapsed to the ground, still roaring but all limbs essentially useless as the flesh knitted back together painfully slowly. With a frenzy of blows from an overly brazen Sniper with a overly sharp kukri the beast was beheaded and all movement ceased. Its head was kicked several feet away for good measure and the group once again stood with a hair-triggers half-pressed.

There should still be one. Pyro kept their eyes towards the snow, the others scanned the surrounding trees and the rooftop of the cabin. It was Pyro who saw it, in the frosting covering the ground someone was leaving footprints, and Pyro couldn't see it; Pyro didn't like that. With a quick puff of fire it appeared an entirely different beast was revealed, it was a ball of fire in the rough shape of a man, but too tall, too hunched, too wide, too gaunt. As the team watched, the roaring shape lurched into a snowbank, the flakes extinguishing the fire, and as their jaws fell open there was a certain familiar sparking and the wendigo shimmered into view out of a wave of red.


	3. Candyland

As Pyro saw the wendigo emerge from the crimson shimmer they began to hyperventilate, sucking lungfuls of sour frozen air through the filter of their mask. The beast was like nothing Pyro had seen, it was dark, and cold, and _bad_. It brought forth things Pyro hadn't felt in years, things Pyro had all but forgotten the words for, fear, disgust, even sadness. That wasn't the part that truly horrified Pyro though, the part that shook Pyro to their very core was the whispering and snapping aura surrounding the beast, the aura that with reaching tendrils cut through the woods of frosted licorice and soft lilac sky, the tendrils that contained a dark world, a world of frost and cold, that had gnarled dead things, and no life in it besides the _thing_ causing all this. This monster was trying to destroy the perfect world that Pyro lived in, Pyro had to do something, if they sat back the darkness might spread and leave this candy forest scarred forever. Pyro wanted to look away, they truly did, but they had to fight, they had to show the beast a little color, that was all, show the monster color and it will go away, just like every other thing that tried to ruin their world.

Pyro charged forward, flamethrower in hand, their feet passing through the fizzling and disappearing remains of the downed wendigo. By the time the team shook themselves from the stupor of seeing a wendigo decloak Pyro was too close and moving too erratically for others to fire without risking clipping Pyro, only adding the occasional snap of handgun fire when the opportunity presented itself. Pyro lit the beast up, dancing around it as the howling creature swiped at and tried to bite the firebug. Its joints creaked and groaned as the flesh sizzled into gristle around them. Pyro moved in closer as the beast began to slow, dropping their flamethrower and drawing their fire axe from their back, beginning to swing at the wendigo's flaming chest with a satisfying _shwack_ accompanying each blow. Pyro could see the beast begin to kneel as its tendons burned away and its eyeballs boiled and shriveled, it couldn't see the long clawed hand sweep in from the side though, puncturing Pyro's torso, and with the last of the wendigo's strength lift the skewered Pyro to the beast's mouth and bite down.

Pyro's head fell from beneath the beast's jaws, all flesh melted away from the bottom of its mouth. The wendigo collapsed to the ground as the charred skeleton ran out of whatever hellish power kept it moving, the remains spluttering out in the snow leaving a cocoa dusted candy bones, its red and white striped peppermint teeth still touched to the Pyro's flesh. The team moved forward, as they saw the menace and their comrade had just fallen, Medic moved to inspect the skeleton of the beast, lifting up one of the elongated and warped limbs with interest. Heavy leaned down to respectfully tug the collar of Pyro's suit over a small sliver of exposed skin, waiting for respawn to take care of the rest. Spy made a beeline for the small black circlet on the skeleton's left wrist, he brushed some of the flaking carbon from the inviswatch and noted to the group, "'e cracked ze face, it shorted out when what was apparently my counterpart jumped in ze snow here. Now Miss Pauling, do you care to explain why it appears RED 'as made a rather… Unexpected appearance in this 'work retreat'?"

Miss Pauling watched the two bodies fizzle away to respawn for second before responding, "believe it or not four losses in a row don't earn you a vacation, no matter how poor the conditions. This was to serve as a test, first to see your response to meeting RED out of a battlefield, the second was to test your skills of improvised combat, which I am failing all of you on by the way. RED was shipped out here three days ago, we couldn't join them due to the storm that we passed through the tail end of, and unless you want to spend the night with me elaborating I'd suggest we rest up to figure out exactly what is going on tomorrow."

* * *

Demoman sat in the dark, looking out to the frozen scape surrounding them. It was his turn to keep watch as the others rested, as he had gotten some sleep on the way up. His ears were alert as he sat in the creaking rocking chair stiffly, nursing a now thawed beer out of habit if nothing else, one couldn't fully indulge in their habit up here, too much liquor would get you dead faster than going after Nessie with a fishing pole. He was nervous not because he had just seen two of his colleagues murdered in front of him, that was nothing new even if by a new hand, but because he knew almost nothing about the creatures they were facing. He considered himself quite the buff on the various spooks and ghouls of his homeland, it was frightening not to know just what to do, be it knock three times and stick out your tongue or touch some iron to it…

Then it hit him, the first beast had sucked up damage like a watered down glass of scrumpy, it had taken them blowing out its joints before they could repair, slowly getting sluggish, but as soon as Sniper started to whack it the wendigo gave up the ghost. Then Pyro, poor Pyro- God only knew what went through their head, managed to take that one down single-handedly. It made sense for such a wintery monster to be fearful of flames, but it should have healed and easily overtaken Pyro when they switched to their axe, but it got more and more rickety, whatever was pumping muscles back onto the charred bones up and disappeared as soon as axe met skin. It couldn't be blades, nothing that simple, but an old trick against fae in a neighboring country had been iron, and of course the catch all for spirits and spooks was a dose of silver, but what if that didn't carry to the new world's beasts? There was only one thing Demoman could decide on in a buzzed and paranoid state, _steel_ was the wendigo's weakness.

However all the deduction in the world couldn't keep his eyelid from drooping at this point, he chugged the rest of his drink and clumsily weaved through the bed rolls strewn on the floor, doing his best not to jab a teammate in the side, and tapped Medic on the shoulder gesturing that it was his turn to keep watch and headed to his own roll for some well deserved rest.

* * *

"So what you're saying is that steel is tha trick? Aluminum won't work?" Scout said somewhat apprehensively, he was rather fond of his bat was reluctant to put it down for the small hatchet offered to him.

"If'n ya want to live it won't." Demoman turned on his heel carrying his Eyelander on his shoulder with a bottle in his free hand. He always acted a little funny with the sword, less interested in others than usual maybe, a touch hostile perhaps, of course the low and annoyed whispering emanating from the blade at the moment could have something to do with that.

Scout turned to Sniper and said, "ya know, that explains tha noise I heard in tha luggage on the way up."

"Really? I was too busy watching to make sure that git didn't crash me van and listening about spooks to do much listening _to_ spooks."

They turned to look towards the erected dispenser on the porch behind them, the normal receptacle for miscellaneous bolts, bullets, metal had been removed to allow the metal arrows it now produced to drop to the ground, the shafts hollow tubes, making a tinkling sound as each dropped to the ground.

After Demoman had convinced the others of the wendigo's weakness they had gone about plotting their most efficient course of attack. Given that Sniper could work well with projectiles it was rather obvious to brew up some steel arrows for him to work with. Demoman had to get a bit more creative, his arsenal consisted of several smashed arrows bundled with a piece of string and stuffed into his grenade launcher. The others remained largely unchanged, be it their reluctance to leave their weapons or general inability to wield something befitting the bronze age, though Medic assured them that his bonesaw would suffice should it come to it.

Above the pre-battle hubbub Miss Pauling sat on the edge of the half-ruined roof. She held her phone with both hands, fighting to get a signal and with a series of voice menus that sounded suspiciously like the coffee boy she had disposed of for unknown reasons. The forcefully monotone voice buzzed out of the speaker, "accessing directory [Rose], press one to access battle statistics, press two to access respawn reco-" There was a sharp jab of a button and the voice continued to drone, "you have accessed the respawn records for team [Reliable Excavation Demolition], last respawn was accessed [2:37 a.m., today], subject [RED Spy]. Second respawn was accessed [2:25 a.m. today], subject [RED Sniper]." Here Miss Pauling expected to end the call and return to the opening choice but she sat through the awkward second of prerecorded silence only to hear, "third respawn accessed [12:05 a.m., two days ago], subject [RED Engineer]." From here she heard the voice repeat the final death toll from the last official match and she shut off the phone with a sigh of happiness to escape the repetitive and somewhat drugged sounding system; at least there wasn't any reason to access directory Violet, she knew BLU team's respawn statistics first hand.

She picked her way down the pile of lumber that was rebuilt at her request and after stopping to store her phone in the cabin lead the team out into the skeletal woods to where she assured them the RED cabin would be.


	4. Scooby Don't

The snow had been blown into towering drifts around the trees in the once lush woods. The skeletons of the trees hung tarry black in the yellowish-cloudy sky, dripping the occasional sun-warmed blob of snow to the ground. Someone who wasn't aware of what had gone down the previous night might have described the scene as idyllic or serene, someone who had witnessed it firsthand, especially one with a flair for the dramatics, would describe it as "quiet, too quiet".

The merry band of mercenaries trudged through the woods in silence, their coats picking up gobs of snow as they attempted to step over the occasional patch of ice or high drift. Their weapons were held at the ready, be it a minigun leaving a groove in the snow as the owner dragged it along like a sled to conserve energy, a bow held loosely with an arrow cocked, or a blood-flecked hatchet held gingerly- its new owner remembering the self-inflicted injury; edged weapons were not Scout's forte and his boisterous shows of dexterity simply ended in spilled blood.

Miss Pauling walked behind Heavy, appreciating a certain aptitude for breaking through barriers held by the Russian giant, and directed them through the skeleton forest to the near-identical cabin a little over half a mile away from their own, indistinguishable besides a typical reddish tint to the wood. Of course that was if you only counted the basic construction, they in fact looked very different when you took into account the webbed spears of frost spreading out from the cabin.

The door was rammed open after initial attempts to open it by conventional means failed to break the thick layer of ice ice oozing through every inch of the room. Scattered around the cabin were nine circles of icicles and frost spelling out arcane runes on the floor, the one at the epicenter of the cabin mostly obscured by the spiked and frozen splatter of almost black blood on the ratty rug. The vines of frost spread in a fractal web between the circles, across the floor, up the walls, and converging into spikes on the angled ceiling giving the faint impression of a shark's maw, lined with rows of recursive teeth. The fireplace had become a reservoir of snow, a drift spilling from the icy and slick pit, the ashes encased beneath an inch of smokey ice that climbed the brick interior.

Only Demoman, Miss Pauling, and Medic remained in the cabin once it was established there was no immediate danger, either to keep watch for wendigos on the hunt or to escape from the seeping chill that permeated the cabin and dwarfed the winter winds. Each walked to their own area of interest. Miss Pauling was digging around the room looking for any record of what had happened, gloved hands fighting against the translucent shell that coated the cabin, giving up as she realized that almost all the paper in the cabin had been burned after seeing a singed book spine poke out from the drift in the fireplace, explaining the empty and half-smashed shelves. Medic crouched over the spiked spatter of gore, worrying a piece of dark ruby until it sheared off, noting its refusal to melt in a gloved, then bare hand. Demoman instead stood a couple feet away from a circle and held his sword out apprehensively.

Carefully he touched the blade's tip to the white frost of the bizarre sigils. Immediately the low murmur of nervous annoyance from the blade was transformed into panicked spectral scream as the poltergeist felt its home be invaded by the remains of the powerful magic. Demoman quickly withdrew the blade and resheathed it, hearing the shrieks first become muffled then fade as the sword fell back to a more familiar tone of annoyed confusion and betrayal. Demoman straightened from the stooped posture required to move the sword with care and declared, "I kinnae say I know what these say but I've read about this before. Th' way I see it, we have th' possession" here he gestures with an open palm to the room at large, "and we have th' sacrifice" he finished as he brought his hand to rest pointing to the chilled splatter of blood.

* * *

The team had left the cabin shortly afterward, having found only the origin of their counterpart's ghastly visages and no salvageable supplies (though a valiant effort was made to secure a six-pack trapped squarely in an ice flow) they quickly left to escape the seeping chill and worry that the wendigos may return to that place. It was decided after hearty debate that while Engineer worked to repair their vehicles the rest of the mercs would spread out into the woods to attempt to track down the remaining beasts and allow them to get out of dodge, or more accurately, drift.

Engineer had erected a sentry in a cleared spot of snow in the middle of the small clearing their cabin was in, he worked within range of a dispenser that he frequently drew nuts, bolts, strips of metal, and short lengths of rubber tube from as he toiled over the mauled hood of his pickup truck. The sentry slowly scanned left and right, a messily welded panel on its back showing the alteration of targets from red cloth to bluish-white fur, the gentle beeps setting a mark for the passing time as the half-dead welding torch sizzled and the wrench clanged in an asynchronous cacophony.

Miss Pauling sat on the porch, alternately fiddling with her brick of a phone to check the statistics of mercenaries, or make notes and plans in an omnipresent clipboard. She pulled a scarf a bit more firmly around her neck as she sat through the droning tone of the directory system once more.

* * *

The trio stalked through the woods ready to unload whatever they could into the first living thing they saw. Sniper growled under his breath as he leaned down to observe the faint furrow in the snow, it was faint but he could just see the direction they were headed. He waved the Frenchman and the Bostonian onward as he changed his path to follow the tracks.

If he was lucky they'd find the monster sleeping. If he was lucky a few steel bolts to the cerebellum would be enough to finish it. If he were lucky the two wankers he got saddled with wouldn't get any of them killed, going out by that thing would be less than ideal. If he were lucky he wouldn't be leaving the job of driving his van back to any of the gits he worked with on a day to day basis. But most importantly, if he was lucky he wouldn't have to shoot the two of them himself to get some peace and quiet.

* * *

The Demoman dragged his boots through the snow, holding the sword and scabbard underneath his arm, preventing it from touching snow at the sword's insistence. Behind him the classic duo followed, the medigun quietly crackling as the full ubercharge waited for deployment and the unrevved minigun cut a rut through the high drifts. They pushed their way through the stiff wind only to hear a cry slash through the breeze like a knife. The now familiar screech that invaded their ears and set hair on end. It was close, and above them.

* * *

Okay I majorly abused the horizontal rule in this part but it was basically written while I had very little idea what to do next. Sorry this took so long, the next part will hopefully be a lot better.


End file.
